A Boy Called Severus
by LegionWolf
Summary: A one-shot story about the night of Severus' birth. Enjoy!


**Disclaimer**

**Obviously I do not own Harry Potter or anything in that universe.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

It was always so very cold this time of year. Whether or not snow covered the ground had no bearing on how chilly it was, or how icy the wind felt when it gusted. Looking up at the sky, one could certainly tell that it was in the dead of winter, but then again, the sky above Cokeworth, England had always been hazy and dark due to the various factories that littered the large town. But instead of just smog hiding the sun, the think winter clouds hung, promising another snowfall soon. As it was, the ground was just only covered by an inch or so of the wintry precipitation, though it was not a stark, clean white as most would expect. Instead, the snow here was tinted gray, dirtied by the soot and smoke that covered the town day after day.

Dirty snow or not, it was still so very cold. Cold enough that the man and woman walking down the frozen side walk were beginning to worry if the bundle in the woman's arms would make it home safely and unaffected by the chill. Being a very real concern, the raven haired woman cradled the bundle closer to her chest, keeping it wrapped in blankets and held against her inside of her worn, woolen coat. The man walked very close to her, one arm draped over her thin shoulders, the other over her chest to help keep the precious cargo as warm as possible. Only a few more blocks and they would be safe in their warm home, a crackling fire dancing in the fireplace.

It was a relief to see the rusting street sign of Spinner's End come into view. A sigh of relief escaped the two adults, their breaths clouding before them. The woman smiled softly, gazing down with tired eyes affectionately toward the newborn she cradled. "Almost home, darling," she murmured. With a brief nudge of her husband's arm, she was walking again with him toward the very last building at the end of the street. To either side of the street, brick, terraced houses faced them, perfectly aligned close together, though that would be the only perfect thing about them. About a fourth of the homes on this street were boarded up and condemned, the rest in just slightly better shape. Only enough to where they were still liveable, but just barely. Roofs were missing shingles or the shingles were loose and falling off, the shutters were either completely gone or askew, unable to even shut. The brick itself was chipped, crumbling and dirty. The windows hazy and filthy, if not broken. Just by glancing down the unfortunate street, it was easy to tell that it was the poorest neighborhood in Cokeworth.

Upon reaching the terraced house at the end, no more or less dilapidated as the others, the man let go of his wife to step upon the stoop and unlock the door. It truly was pointless to do so, as there was nothing of value within the home to steal. But being a proud, stubborn man, he wanted to feel as if he could protect his home, his belongings, and his family. Once the door creaked open, he stepped aside to allow his wife and their child to enter before he followed, closing and locking the door behind him. The inside of the house was better at least in appearance than the outside. The room in which the front door lead was fairly small, the wall across from the door was lined to either side by a large, near-empty bookshelf, a fireplace between them. To the right was the beginning of a narrow staircase that would lead to the second floor, and to the left was the entrance to the kitchen. In the corner in front of the left bookshelf was a single stuffed chair, the upholstery heavily worn and stained from use, but not yet to a point to be full of holes. Beside the chair was a small side table adorned by a candlestick and a book. A dingy gray round rug covered the wooden floor before the fireplace, though the rest of the floor was bare, the enamel that protected it long since worn away, leaving the wood exposed and as dull and dingy as the rest of the house. In all, it was not a particularly happy dwelling as far as looks went. The lack of bright colors, photographs, and decorations saw to that, if the shape of the house itself did not. But it was home for the couple and their new child, the best any family as poor as they could afford.

"Just go ahead and make yourself comfortable, Eileen. I'll get a fire going and make you some tea," the man uttered as he knelt by the fireplace to remove the wire grating. Tobias Snape was a fairly large man, though no where near fat. He was tall and his arms were strong form working mills his entire adult life. His dull brown hair was thin and oily, his eyes dark and dull. To most, he was neither ugly nor attractive, though his large nose had him looking more the former than the latter. His wife Eileen was also fairly tall, though her too-thin body had her looking very twig-like. Her skin was pale and lightly tinged yellow, giving her an almost sickly look. Once her eyes were a beautiful emerald, though now the green was dull and the white of her eyes weren't white at all. Most always bloodshot and yellowing. Her hair was easily her best feature; long and thick and raven black, currently braided and tied back.

Quietly and skillfully, Tobias scraped the ash from the fireplace and scooped it up, dumping it in a paper bag to dispose of. Setting it aside, he took some wood from the small pile to the right of the fireplace, stacking it carefully in the hearth and placing crumpled newspaper around and beneath it. After rumbling for the matches in his pocket with icy fingers, he lit one and held it to the edge of the paper until it caught, tossing the match on top. Leaning close, he blew softly on the tiny flame until the rest of the newspaper caught, the thin logs soon to follow. Satisfied, he replaced the wire protective frame in front of the hearth once more and stood, knees popping. Without a word, he exited the small living space to enter the kitchen to make the tea he had promised his wife.

Eileen watched her husband quietly, her face near expressionless while she thought. It was a shame to have to work at making something as simple as a fire, when doing so would come so very easily to her. She was a witch, you see, and a very skilled one at that. But after meeting her Muggle husband, she had put that side of her away in hiding, afraid of letting it show and losing the man she'd come to fall in love with. Her thin lips twitching into a soft frown after Tobias left for the kitchen, Eileen looked down at the small, black-haired baby in her arms, sleeping peacefully. There was no doubt in her mind that one day her son would show signs of having magical blood, and when that day came, it would be better that it did not come as a surprise to her husband. She would have to tell him... but how? What would happen when he learned that his kind, the Muggles, were not the only sorts of humans? Eileen was afraid of her husband, to a degree. Though she believed him to be a good man, his temper could easily get the better of him and he was prone to violence, especially when he was drinking. So his reaction was something she was afraid of, thus her keeping her secret as she did all these years. Shivering, she held the little boy closer, kissing his forehead softly. She would have to tell Tobias soon. Today even. Because this winter was worse than it had been for almost a decade, and would surely get worse. So for her child, she would have to tell, because magic would certainly help the situation. At least making fire would be much easier and faster. Besides, Tobias would find out sooner or later, now that he had a son with magic in his blood. And if the baby was anything like his mother, he would be showing signs at an early age.

Returning from the kitchen with a steaming cup of tea in his hands, Tobias knelt before his wife and handed it to her. She took it gently from him, blowing softly on it for a moment before taking a tentative sip. "How is he?" the man asked, his voice quiet but gruff as he gazed over the pale-faced little bundle. He was neither happy nor upset that he had a child now. Or rather, it was a mix of both. On one hand, he was thrilled to have a son to carry his name as any father would, but on the other, it was only another mouth to feed. It was hard enough to keep enough food on the table to keep himself and his wife alive, as their visible ribs could tell you. Plus clothes and diapers would be needs, special food, a crib... just too much for a poor family to handle.

Eileen's gaunt face tilted downward one more to regard her son and she smiled softly. "He's just fine, love. He has a strong spirit." Because that was the only thing strong about the boy. He was born a month too soon, and was already thin and unhealthy. But his will to survive was there.

The man did not smile as he watched the baby. "He needs a name," he decided. At the hospital, he refused to name the boy because it had been likely he would have died, then what would have been the point? But seeing as how his son seemed determined to stay alive, he needed to be called something.

The woman smiled a bit more, her expression affectionate. "Severus. His name is Severus."

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><p><strong>There we have it! The first chapter to my young!Severus story that will continue until his first day of Hogwarts. I plan to eventually have several stories that will go in chronological order, starting with this one. The second being his first years at Hogwarts, the third being his later years at Hogwarts and early adulthood (heavily based off of a roleplay I'm doing), the forth being his years as Professor, etc. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed! Please feel free to review.<strong>


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